


Nala's Trial

by TheBlackCatCrossing



Category: Lion King (1994)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 13:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlackCatCrossing/pseuds/TheBlackCatCrossing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nala's state of mind just before she left the Pride Lands for help. Dark and depressing themes. Incest references. Be warned! One shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nala's Trial

Pain was not a foreign word to her. It was a feeling as familiar to her as the seasonal rains. Since that terrible tragedy, Nala had gotten more or less used to life's terrible stings. She still remembered that feeling of dread when Scar made that announcement. It was like a pool of blackness that sucked all out the happiness she had ever known. Not only was the only father figure she had known gone, but her best friend, her playmate was gone too. Happy days were becoming a distant memory. They were replaced by the dark clouds of the present. Still, she pressed on. Her mother and the Queen taught her perseverance, strength, and most importantly, they gave her love. Though she had gotten more or less used to the new management, there was this feeling, this dark and ugly mood in the air that she could feel in her bones. It was amplified whenever she was around Scar.

King Mufasa treated her like his own daughter. Scar was as warm and caring as a cobra. As a cub, she felt safe around him because her mother offered her protection, but as she was getting older, she could feel the King's eyes burn into her skin, judging her, critiquing her.

She could feel him sizing up her 'potential'.

Whatever it was, she did not want to know. She would rather tire her body and wear herself out mentally than keep Scar company. Even if it took the third or fourth hunt before she could fill her stomach, she kept her distance and only spoke to him unless instructed. That was easy at first but lately, their 'interactions' had taken on a slightly different tone.

Her mother taught her to respect the King. She still remembered her mom giving her tips, telling her how to address him. She could still hear her mother telling her how to curtsy, how to say 'Good morning, King Mufasa' or 'Good evening, your majesty'. At least he acknowledged you and treated you with dignity. At the time, she did not realize it but her mother had made an arrangement with the King and Queen. She did not know exactly what at the time, but it had something to do with Simba, her only playmate, her friend, her 'brother'. The first time she had heard about the 'betrothal' from Zazu, she was so disgusted that she would have rather licked a piece of rhinoceros dung. Now, she would give anything to turn back the time. Such carefree childhood days seemed like a distant memory now. She still remembered the blue skies, the green grass, and the various herds ripe for the picking. One of her favorite memories was how King Mufasa would let her and Simba eat with him. He would give them hunting tips and he would share the juiciest pieces of meat. She remembered asking the King why the wildebeest or zebra would be "happy" that they were eating them. She could still hear his warm voice as he explained 'the circle of life'.

Scar did not share his meals. And she did not want to eat with him either. Now that she was older, she noticed how he was getting more 'friendlier' with her. Reluctantly, she would greet him, bow, or do show a sign of respect. Anything she tried to do to stay on his good side.

"Yes, King Scar"

"Hello, your majesty"

"Please enjoy, my Lord"

The words were automatic and flat.

She hated being alone with him. She dreaded going to him if she needed permission to get a drink for the nearest watering hole which was just outside of the borders. Overhunting had depleted the Pride Lands of their resources. When Scar looked at her, she could feel him judge her. It felt like the heat of a rock after it had been sitting under the sun for so long.

"You look just like your mother," he would whisper. At first she brushed it off as a compliment. There was no doubt a resemblance, a fact she was proud of. It also tugged at her heart for she had lost her mother a few seasons back during a hunt. Her mother was grazed by an old bull's horn on her side. She made it a few days before she took her last breath. She sought solace in Queen Sarabi's presence. She was like an aunt, a surrogate mother. Then came those words:

"Your mother and Scar were close at one point".

Nala chose not to investigate the truth behind the statement. There was a myriad of possibilities; theories that she was afraid would be true should she ask. Questions burned in her mind and when they were particularly taxing she would go on a hunt, trying to do anything to purge herself of these thoughts. They were like stains or a crack on a perfect plain.

"You know there's only one reason why you are alive," a husky voice broke her silent thoughts while she drank from a small pitiful pool.

"Stay away from me, hyena," Nala hissed. She recognized the creature as Scar's second in command.

"Hey, I wasn't gonna eat you that time at the graveyard, anyway. Your daddy was going to have my head and give it to the buzzards." The hyena was female. She was one of the main three.

"You are a liar. King Mufasa was not my father, but he was like one to me," Nala declared with all the grace she could muster.

"I wasn't talking about him, sweets," Shenzi observed. The words struck at Nala like thunder.

"Watch your mouth, vermin," the young lioness let out a warning.

"Girl, you are lucky that I am in a good mood. You ever wonder why Scar never killed you? Isn't that what they usually do in lion society after a new King takes over?" She was a macabre mixture of death, perversity and stench.

"I am giving you one last warning, stop it." Nala said finally.

"If you don't believe me, go ask your mama. Whoops, I forgot. Heheh." She could see tears begin to roll down the lioness' eyes. "Banzai told me she tasted really good. He called it 'just desserts'".

With that, she ran. She ran back towards Pride Rock, a home that was now a derelict run down facility filled with vermin and trash. She tried to look for company, but it became obvious to her that the lionesses went hunting again. She was all alone. She found a quiet spot, letting a few tears stream down her face.

"Something wrong, dearest?" A low male voice cooed.

She looked up and saw him looking down at her from a ledge. He had caught her alone and vulnerable. She hated that. She felt like she was exposed.

"Scar, is it true?" She asked. He insisted on going past the formalities and she did it out of concern for her safety. Without going into details or asking to deeply about what had upset her, all he saw was that she was in dire straits, she was weak. She needed aid and he would happily provide it for her.

"You know you have no choice," he said softly. She knew that he meant more than just a shoulder to cry on.

It was the final nail to the coffin. That night, she left. She left what was once familiar with her. She knew the risks. She knew that as a nomadic lioness, she would be subject to unimaginable dangers. Joining another lion pride was out of the question for she needed to return. She needed to find help. As a nomadic lioness, she would be liable for unwanted attention from rogue lions. No help, no safety net. The only things she had to carry her were memories and an instinct.

The days were hot. The nights were cold and lonely. She barely ate and water was scarce. At times she wondered if she was in a nightmare, but reality would hit her when she felt thorns brush against her pelt or if she felt the unforgivable hunger pangs. The desert was especially merciless. For days on end, it was nothing but sand. No sign of life anywhere. It was an endless terrain that would test one's mental strength. Quite a few times she passed skeletons of other animals that had treaded this unforgivable terrain. She used this as a tool. She had to keep going, she had to keep trying.

Pools of water that were once plentiful were practically nonexistent, but sometimes she was so desperate that she would take the hot water and 'drink'. Sometimes the water would be nothing more than mud. She believed that as long as she felt pain, it mean that she was still alive and that she must soldier on.

Her muscles tensed, and her vision blurred from lack of nutrition. She tried catching random antelope but they had leapt away before she could even attempt to catch them. Her concentration was beginning to be compromised. She tried speaking to the birds in the trees but they would ignore her. They called her a 'she-demon'. She did not blame them and yet no matter how hard she tried to convince anyone that she was not hunting, no one was willing to help. Who would trust anyone who had sharp teeth and claws? She was almost lucky when she caught the attention of a gazelle baby. It was only a few weeks old. She tried to appeal to him and he seemed interested in helping the 'nice lady lion' but his mother ran up and shooed Nala away. She tried to reason and tried to explain that she was not hunting, but the mother would not have it. Soon, the males came charging forward with their horns aiming at Nala.

"Excuse me, can you help me?" She said as she looked up the trees.

"Well, what do we have here?" The monkeys hooted. "It's a live one! Where's your family, hon?" One of the older ones asked.

"I-I am alone," she began.

"Awww, look the poor baby is all by herself!"

"Don't believe her! She probably has her friends hiding in the brush somewhere!" They cackled.

"No, that's not it. I need your help!" Nala shouted back.

"Well, you made it this far—!"

"You know, I used to know a lion once," a younger one pointed out.

"What happened to him?" His brother asked.

"I saw him on the back on one of those er, um, what they call them, hunters!"

A hoot of laughter greeted Nala's ears. She had heard cautionary tales of Kings on patrol never returning because of these strange two footed animals called 'humans'. She hoped that she would not encounter any of them. She left the troop of monkeys who were as helpful to her as a stick in the mud. She saw them as the hyenas of the trees. They always spoke in riddles.

On the eighth day, she collapsed. When she woke up, she had no idea for how long she was out. She proceeded with her journey with her legs aching, her back hurting, and her mind about to snap. Then, she saw a something.

Green.

Shrubbery.

Was it a mirage? Then came a smell: meat. It was unmistakable, but she decided to investigate just to be certain. Surely, there had to be someone dwelling here and sure enough, she found her target.

It was a warthog and it was a very smelly one at that.


End file.
